Shelter from the Storm
by DreamingByDay
Summary: While still reeling from the loss of her beloved brothers, Jaina Solo must confront a terrifying specter from her traumatic childhood as well as her growing feelings for the stern Colonel Jagged Fel. Rated T for sexual abuseviolence.


Shelter from the Storm

_Colonel Jagged Fel, the ramrod-stiff, unemotional Imperial pilot trained in the Chiss Ascendancy, did not make a habit of admitting his feelings even to himself, much less revealing them to others on his chiseled, usually stony face. But today, he could not help it. As he buckled his helmet and climbed up the ladder into his prized clawcraft, a huge grin split his handsome features, and his emerald eyes twinkled with the memories of that morning…_

He walked into the mess hall, early as usual, dressed in his impeccably starched white uniform, which earned him a few not-very-well-concealed smirks from the sweatpants-and-slipper-clad New Republic pilots lounging in the booths and chugging caf. Ignoring them, he made his way to the service counter, grabbing a sweet roll and some spare ration bars for later in the day. Searching the room for a place to sit, his gaze immediately darted to the booth in the farthest corner of the room, occupied only by one small, brown-haired woman wearing torn Jedi robes made of black leather. She stared absently at the chrome surface of the table and held a nearly-empty bottle of Corellian firewhiskey in her trembling hand, but no other food or drink was in sight. Returning to the breakfast line, this time with more purpose than before, Jag carefully chose a bowl of fresh fruit, more rolls, a heaping plate of eggs, and a freshly brewed pot of hot chocolate, then headed over towards the young woman.

"Hey," he said softly, setting his trays down on her table. "Can I-"

"I said, get lost, Kyp," she mumbled. Her words were slurred, and the Chiss pilot noticed that her usually brilliant brandy-brown eyes were now tired and bloodshot. With her tight, ripped robes stained with dirt and dried blood, the eighteen-year-old Jedi warrior looked like she had been through all nine circles of Corellian hell. Which, Jag reflected, she truly had. After losing both her brothers in the course of one horribly butchered mission, he was amazed that she was even on her feet right now, much less commanding a squadron, briefing the troops on psychological warfare, and posing as a Yuuzhan Vong goddess.

"I…I'm not Kyp Durron, Miss Solo. Though I don't blame you for wanting to get rid of him," Jag responded, chuckling.

Jaina looked up at him, and her blank eyes seemed to sparkle momentarily in recognition. "Oh. Sorry."

"May I? There's nowhere else to sit." Jag instantly felt like kicking himself – the mess hall was practically vacant this early in the morning. "I mean, nowhere else…uh…clean."

Jaina did not even seem to hear him, so he slid into the seat across from her. She did not look at him, but continued staring at the table, though Jag had a feeling that she did not even see it. After a long moment, she spoke. "There's that one." She jerked her head back, motioning behind her to where two cleaning droids were polishing a squeaky-clean tabletop.

Jag's mouth dropped. "Behind you? How did you…?" He stopped as he realized what she had just said. "You want me to leave?"

"No!" Her plea came out as a choked whisper, and Jag's heart melted for her pain. He tried to meet her gaze, to smile at her, to show support in some small way; she refused to look at him. But not before he saw the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

"I…" he began, not sure what he was going to say, but knowing that he had to say something.

"Are you going to eat all that?" she interrupted, in a not-so-subtle attempt to change the subject.

He laughed. "No…I thought…you might be hungry?" He felt his face turning red, and he immediately busied himself scooping food onto a plate for her.

"Oh." She stared at the eggs, but did not touch them. Her eyes darted nervously around the table, landing on the steaming hot chocolate Jag was pouring. "You like hot chocolate?"

He shrugged. "I've never tried it, actually. But it smells good."

"But…then why…?" Her confusion was so innocent, so endearing. Jag wondered why she found it so hard to believe that someone might care about her.

"_You_ like it, don't you?" he responded, handing her a cup. She nodded vaguely, wrapping her small hands around the warm mug. Jag watched her, and as he pondered what to say next, he noticed a series of thin, faded scars criss-crossing her delicate wrists. Sensing the direction of his gaze, she fidgeted uncomfortably and tugged her torn sleeves further down her arms. "What happened?" Jag asked, worry filling his voice.

"Nothing." Her flat tone left no room for debate. Jag just shook his head slightly and sighed.

Jaina lifted her cup to her lips, took a small sip, and shuddered at the sweetness, her lips pursing of their own accord. She started to unscrew the cap of her whiskey bottle, but Jag shook his head more firmly this time, grabbing the bottle away from her. An electric shock ran through his body as his hand brushed hers, and he dropped the whiskey. In a crash of smashed glass and broken bottle shards, the liquor began to seep across the table and onto the floor.

"What was that for?" Jaina asked accusingly, glaring at Jag as she began to wipe up the mess with the dark Jedi cloak crumpled in a shredded pile next to her.

"I…" Jag started, taking the dripping cloak from her and using napkins instead. "It doesn't work. Trust me."

She stopped trying to help clean and stared at him. "You…I thought you didn't drink?"

"Not anymore. But when my brother died…It was a hard time. I did a lot then that I wouldn't recommend."

"Your brother…?" Her voice caught in her throat, and Jag had to exert a lot of effort to refrain from pulling her into his arms right then and there. In all his twenty-seven years of life, he had never seen a more tragic, more beautiful sight than the lost, grieving, amazingly powerful woman sitting across from him, stoically refusing to cry.

"I lost my brother and my older sister in battle, Lieutenant Colonel. It was years ago…I was just a little boy…but I'll never forget…"

"Sith. I'm…I'm so sorry."

Jag shook his head. "It wasn't your fault, Miss-"

She held up a hand, as if to say "Stop." "It's Jaina."

"But…"

"But what?"

"I don't know. It just sounds so…intimate." This time, Jag could not hide his blush, but he was pleased to note that Jaina flushed, too.

"And 'Miss Solo,' or 'Lieutenant Colonel,' or all that 'Goddess' crap, seems too formal. I'd like someone to call me by my name for once. This isn't finishing school."

Jag chuckled as he swept the broken glass into a tidy pile on the table. "Have you ever even been to finishing school, _Jaina_?" Her name tasted so sweet on his lips. He wanted to say it all the time…to run his fingers through her hair and repeat her beautiful name…to press her small body close to his and whisper "Jaina" over and over, like a prayer….to stroke her soft face and kiss her bare, slender neck…

"Jagged?" He snapped back to attention, realizing that she had been talking while he was lost in his Jaina fantasies.

"Sorry. I was…I mean…I…sorry. And it's Jag."

"Jag? To everyone? Because all the officers call you-"

"To you, Jaina." She gave him a tentative half-smile, and his heart soared. "So…finishing school?" He wanted to keep her talking, to keep her mind off her problems long enough that she might actually eat something, or at least sober up a bit more.

She scoffed, and her face twisted into a female version of her famous father's trademark grin. "I was there for a week or so. Mom really wanted me to go. Learn to be a lady, and all that."

"But?" Jag prompted her.

"I sort of…was asked to leave?"

Jag chuckled. How was it that this girl, who he had only known for a few weeks, managed to make him laugh more in that short time than he had in all 27 years of his young life? "What happened?"

"It was a number of things, actually. I used lots of…inappropriate words, and I kept coming late, and tearing my dresses, and breaking the glasses at dinner…I think the last straw was when I accidentally…uh…terrified our instructor so much that she passed out and quit her job."

"Do I even want to know?"

"I was climbing on the roof, because I was bored, and she saw me, and she yelled 'Jaina Solo, get off that skyscraper right now!' So I did. I…I jumped…and…okay, maybe I did a few flips, or something…it was fifty stories high, and by the time I reached the twenty-fifth floor, she was already out cold."

Jag couldn't help himself – he started laughing so hard his whole body shook, picturing a young Jaina in a frilly pink dress, her knees scratched and her wild hair loose around her adorably chubby face, diving nonchalantly off a Coruscant skyscraper as though it were the most natural thing in the galaxy. Which to her, of course, it probably was.

Still cracking up, Jag grabbed the edge of the table in a futile attempt to stop the peals of laughter. "Sith!" Jag cried out as he cut his hand on one of the sharp bottle shards still scattered amongst the half-empty plates and cups. He raised his palm to his mouth to suck off the blood.

"Don't do that! Let me see it," Jaina ordered, taking his large, wounded hand in her own warm, tiny one. He shivered involuntarily as she gently touched her soft fingertips to his cut, which healed immediately.

"How in Corellia…?" No words could express Jag's amazement. What _couldn't_ this gorgeous girl do?

"I _am_ a Jedi, remember?" she retorted, the barest hint of amusement dancing in her fiery chocolate eyes.

"Ah, that's right," Jag replied, leaning back in his seat and taking a huge bite out of his pastry. "You're a Jedi. You can do anything."

The light in Jaina's eyes instantly vanished, and Jag watched her transform from a lively woman intrigued by the man obviously flirting with her into the angry, withdrawn, self-loathing warrior weighed down by grief and anguish too heavy for one so young and innocent – the sad, dark girl Jag knew she was inside. "No," she murmured, more to herself than to Jag, who was currently berating himself for his previous joke. "I can't do everything. If I could, they'd still be…" Her voice cracked, and she turned away, wiping tears from her face – a face she stubbornly refused to show to Jag.

"Excuse me," she muttered, sliding out of the booth, trying to make a quick exit so she could…

So she could what?, Jag wondered. Cry? That in itself was harmless enough. And necessary. What frightened him was the bottle of whiskey she had downed before he found her, the way she refused to admit she was upset…the slash marks on her wrists that she futilely tried to hide from him…

"No, Jaina!" he practically shouted, causing everyone in the mess hall to turn and gape at them. Springing from his seat, he grabbed her arm and pushed her back into the booth, then slid in beside her so she couldn't attempt to flee again.

"Don't…just…just sit," he told her, his voice lower now. "Talk to me."

She shook her head mutely in refusal. Her small body was stiff beside him.

"Jaina, please…I-"

"You know how I feel?" she spat suddenly. "You and everyone else."

"That's not what I was going to say." She stared up at him with huge, watery brown eyes, her surprise and confusion evident as Jag took her trembling hands in his. "I…I know you don't know me very well, Jaina, but…I want to help you. I…I care about you. A lot. And I don't want you to hurt like this anymore. Please…let me be here for you."

Unbidden tears slowly ran down Jaina's cheeks, and she turned her head away from the Chiss pilot. Her tiny body shook with the tremendous force of her silent grief, and before he had even thought it through, before Jag could stop himself, the colonel wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

She immediately stiffened, but Jag rubbed her back soothingly, and despite herself she collapsed into his warm embrace and soundlessly wept on his shoulder. "Shhh," Jag whispered, holding her tight. "Shhh. It's okay. I've got you. Everything's going to be okay."

After a while, Jaina's anguish subsided and she pulled away slightly, looking up at Jag with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. "Sorry," she muttered, her face flushing with embarrassment. She shyly avoided Jag's worried gaze. The Chiss colonel, for his part, thought she had never looked more beautiful. It took every last ounce of Jag's wavering self-restraint to refrain from pressing his lips to hers right then and there.

"Hey. It's alright, Jaina. There's nothing to be sorry about. Trust me." He impulsively reached his hand up to push a stray wisp of unruly auburn hair behind her ear. To his utter bewilderment, Jaina flinches, eyes wide in fear, the instant he raised his hand towards her face.

"Jaina?" He lowered his hand, staring at her in horror. "What is it?"

"N…nothing." She twisted out of his arms and scooted away from him. He noticed she was trembling.

"I was just going to…to touch your hair," Jag admitted, feeling his face burn. "I wasn't going to hurt you, Jaina."

"I…I know that." Her reply was not convincing at all.

"You thought I was going to hit you, didn't you?"

Jaina did not answer.

"Jaina, look at me. Please." His voice was soft and gentle, and Jaina found herself unable to resist his tender plea. Her brandy-brown eyes met his green ones, and for a long, breathless moment, neither pilot spoke at all. At last, Jag broke the silence, his voice barely a whisper amidst the clamor of the now-jam-packed mess hall. "Who hurts you, Jaina?"

She tore her eyes away from his mesmerizing gaze. "No one. I'm fine, Jag. Honest."

"No. You're not. Jaina…Does your dad-"

"How dare you!" Jag shrank back inadvertently. He'd forgotten the force of her anger when she was mad. "How can you even…? You don't know anything about my family. Or my dad. Just because your father hates mine-"

"And Han Solo loves my dad, right?" Jag cut in. "Jaina, listen. I'm not trying to insult you. Or your family. I…I'm just worried about you, alright?"

She rolled her eyes. "There's nothing to worry about."

Jag gaped at her. "Oh, no, not at all. Your brothers just died, you're drinking all by yourself at six in the morning, you look like you haven't changed your clothes since-"

"If you wanted to sit by a beautiful girl, you shouldn't have come over here in the first place." She was furious now, and Jag knew he had really blown it this time.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. Jaina – listen to me. Please. You…you _are_…I mean…Where else would I go? I'm already sitting next to the most beautiful woman in the universe." Jag looked nervously at the tile floor as Jaina gaped at him. Disbelief now replaced the anger that had vanished from her face.

"I…you…what do you…I mean…But…I'm not…"

Jag muttered something incoherent. Two seconds later, he was smacked in the cheek by an airborne slice of grapefruit. He turned to Jaina, who was giggling at his perplexed expression as the pink juice dripped down his chin. "What was that for?"

"Your lame attempt at a pick-up line."

"It wasn't-" His words of protest were abruptly cut off by a flying pastry. No, not flying. _Levitating_, right beside his shoulder. "What in the name of the Sith?"

Jaina, who had been staring, glassy-eyed, at the sweet roll, flicked two flingers casually, and the pastry zoomed directly into Jag's open mouth. She smiled widely and chuckled at the surprise evident on his face.

"You little…" Jag managed to say between mouthfuls of sweet roll. Jaina shrieked and unsuccessfully tried to wriggle away as Jag spit out the doughy delicacy and pounced on her, tickling her until she was gasping for air in between spasms of laughter.

Gasping…then coughing, her whole small body shaking with the force of her coughs. "Jaina!" Jag immediately stopped tickling her, putting his hands around her shoulders to steady her. "Jaina, are you okay?"

She just kept coughing, so he snatched a glass of water from the very annoyed Major in the next booth and raised it to her lips. "Just breath, Jaina. Breath."

Soon her coughs died down, and Jag held her close to his chest, his arms wrapped around her protectively. "You okay?"

Jaina nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes…it's because my ribs haven't healed all the way yet. From Mrykr. You know."

Jag instantly pulled his hands away from her body. "Sith, Jaina! You were letting me tickle you with broken ribs?"

She grinned mischievously up at him. "I was planning to sue you for injuring me, actually. But now you ruined my great master plot." She curled up into him suddenly, and he instinctively held her close, relishing the feel of her tiny form pressed so near to his own body. Her eyes closed peacefully, and Jag just started to think that she had finally drifted off into much-needed sleep when she instantly sprang up, her back ramrod straight, and saluted the proud, battle-scarred older man walking briskly towards them.

"Wedge! I mean, General Antilles, sir…Am I-?"

Jagged Fel stiffened automatically at the sight of his Rebel uncle standing beside their table. "Yes, Goddess, you're a bit late," Wedge Antilles replied, a small smile playing around the edge of his mouth.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"No problem, Jaina. Just get your squadron in the air for practice. Whenever you have a free moment."

She blushed, and Jag stood up so she could scoot past him out of the booth. "Thanks, Jag," she said softly, grabbing her ripped cloak. "Good luck today."

"You too. Stay safe." She was halfway across the room when he suddenly stood up and called her back. "Jaina?"

She spun around. "Yes?"

"Are you doing anything? Tonight, I mean? For…um…for dinner?"

She grinned, and her eyes sparkled. "I think I could clear my schedule…"

"I'll pick you up at seven, then. And we'll go somewhere…somewhere nice, I mean…not the mess hall."

"Alright." With a wave and a gorgeous smile, she left the dining area, leaving behind her a wake of numerous dazed pilots staring open-mouthed at her retreating form.

Jag was trying in vain to suppress his joy at her answer when his uncle turned to him, clearly amused by the entire situation. "Did you really just ask _Jaina Solo_ on a date?"

"Uh…yeah. I think I did." Jag's dreamy, far-off voice was not lost on Wedge Antilles.

"Thank the Force! It's about time!" Wedge clapped his startled nephew on the back. "And she actually smiled, Jag. She hasn't smiled like that since…in a long time. Thank you."

"For what?"

"Making her happy." Wedge's jubilant face suddenly turned stone-serious, and he stared intently at the young man standing before him. "And you better keep her happy, too, you understand? That girl has been through more heartache than anyone deserves, especially someone like my hold-daughter. And I swear, if you don't treat her right, and you don't really care about her, no galactic anti-torture laws will be strong enough to stop me from-"

Jag did not need to hear any more. "I _do_ care about her, General," he interrupted. "I…I more than care about her. I treasure her, I adore her, I worship her…I…I've never said this before, about anyone, but…I _love _her. With all that I am. I don't want anything from her, Sir. I just want to protect her, to shield her from any more pain, to make her laugh and smile and feel loved again. I'd do anything for her, anything she asked, anything she needed…I…I'd die for her."

The sincerity plastered across his nephew's usually-emotionless face and the intensity blazing in the young man's eyes were enough to convince Wedge of Jag's honesty. "I know, Jag," he replied, pulling the confused young man into a quick hug before departing.

"Oh, and Jag?" he called as he marched away.

"Yes, sir?"

Wedge scoffed audibly. "No more of that. No _Sir_, and no _General_. From now on, it's just Wedge. Or Uncle. Got it?"

"Yes, si-…I mean, Wed-…er…Uncle." Wedge grinned, tossed off a mock salute, and left the mess hall.

_Jagged Fel smiled broadly as he gracefully landed his clawcraft after the day's exercises. Usually, he found it quite easy to concentrate all his energy on flying, but today, his thoughts were on something far more important. Someone, actually. Someone with big brown eyes, silky dark hair, wicked combat skills, a deadly sense of humor, and a sad smile…Someone whose lips haunted his dreams and whose words held him spell-bound…Someone he longed to impress later that night…_

Dressed in his best crisp white dress uniform and carrying two dozen red and white roses, the Chiss colonel strode down the hall to Jaina's small room, trying uselessly to calm his jumpy nerves. He really hoped she would like the bouquet – Jaina definitely did not come off as the perfume and petals type, but that was exactly why he had a strong feeling that she did not often receive flowers. He took a deep breath, then another, wiped his palms on his pants, and knocked on her door.

There was no answer.

After a few minutes – the longest few minutes of Jag's life – he knocked again.

Still no answer.

"Jaina?" he called softly. He was not surprised that he heard no reply. Disappointed, of course, but not surprised.

Slowly, he laid the flowers beside her door and walked away. _She stood me up_, he thought. _She stood me up. I can't believe it_. He shook his head sadly and stole one last, longing glance at her still-closed door. _What did you think would happen, Fel_?, another voice countered. _She's Jaina Solo. Beautiful, smart, powerful…she's a Jedi, for Sith's sake. Why did you actually think she would want to be with you_? Jag sighed, unable to shake his depression. She was probably out having fun somewhere, smiling that beautiful smile at someone else…at her Master, Kyp Durron, or…

"Kriff!" a man's voice snapped as Jag bumped into him, lost in his own misery. Jag looked up into the angry face of Jedi Master Kyp Durron and wished he could just disappear.

"Sorry," the younger pilot muttered.

Kyp seized his arm, preventing Jagged from hurriedly retreating back to his own quarters. "Jag? Where's Jaina?" Coming from Kyp, the words seemed more like an order than a question.

Jag glared at the older man. "Cute, Durron. That's real big of you."

"What?" Genuine confusion swam in Kyp's pale green eyes.

"She's with you, isn't she?" Jag asked, but he no longer truly believed that she had turned him down, much less ran into her Master's waiting arms. The terrified look on Kyp's face told the Chiss pilot all he needed to know.

"Sithspit!" Kyp swore. "I thought…she was waiting for _you_, Jag."

Jag fidgeted guiltily. "I knocked. Twice. If she's in there, she doesn't want to see me."

"Like hell she doesn't. She spent hours getting ready, Fel. She did her hair. She bought a dress. She…she put on _makeup_. Do you know how often I've seen Jaina Solo put on makeup?"

Jag shrugged mutely, too concerned for Jaina to really concentrate on the conversation.

"Once. Tonight." With that, Kyp kicked down Jaina's door. The room was empty. Empty of her, at least. A trail of blood had dried on the floor, and a thin piece of cerulean blue fabric was caught in the back of her chair. Jag picked it up and ran his fingers over the silky material. Where was she?

Kyp turned to Jag. The Jedi Master wore an odd expression of disgust mingled with fear, as if he had smelled – or rather, sensed – something rotten in the room. Something…dark. "Find her, Fel. I'll alert security. And call Luke."

"Master Skywalker? Is this some Jedi thing?"

"Dark Jedi, I think. Zekk."

Jag shook his head, still confused.

"He went to the Academy with her. She had a crush on him, once…It broke her heart when he went Dark. And…well, that's all we know. She's never talked about it to anyone."

"Dark? As in, Vader?"

"As in, find her, _now_," Kyp ordered. Jag did not need to be told twice. Pulling his Chiss charric out of its holster, he raced down the hall, letting his feet guide him in what he fervently prayed was the right direction.

Half an hour later, his breathing came in ragged gasps, and sweat poured down his clean-shaven face, but he refused to slow his breakneck pace. More blood, fresh blood, splattered a wall deep in the recesses of an unused docking bay, and he tore down the rickety stairs, disregarding the night-black darkness below him. He sprinted even faster as the soft sounds of muffled screams reached his ears.

_Wham_! He banged his head against a door at the bottom of the staircase. Predictably, it was locked. In one fluid move, he knocked it down. And stared in shock at the sight before his emerald eyes.

Jaina, wearing the remnants of a clingy aquamarine evening gown torn so much that it barely looked like clothing anymore, huddled, trembling, in a corner, covered in blood. She held one hand over her half-exposed chest in an effort to cover herself, and raised the other one to defend her bruised face from the tall man in front of her, who was raining fierce blows onto her battered body.

"Don't!" Jaina pleaded. "Don't do this again. Please. Please…not again…"

The man just hauled her to her feet and shoved her roughly against the wall, forcing his lips against hers as he animalistically tore at her dress. "Shut up, you little whore," he ordered, slapping her across the face. "You know you want it."

"No!" Jag yelled angrily, racing across the room, grabbing the larger man from behind, and throwing him away from the cowering Jaina. "She doesn't." The man tried to stand up, but Jag punched him square in the jaw. As Jaina's attacker reeled backwards, Jag kicked him in the stomach over and over, just for good measure, and as the long-haired stranger again fell to the ground, a lightsaber fell from his belt onto the cold cement.

"Sith," Jag cursed under his breath, suddenly remembering that her assailant was a Jedi.

The man stirred and looked around as if disoriented. "Get out of here, Jag!" Jaina begged hoarsely. "He'll hurt you, too. Go!"

"And leave you with this jerk? You've got to be kidding." Jag raced over to her, ignoring her protests as he scooped her up into his arms. Carrying Jaina, the Chiss colonel raced back up the stairs towards the safety of crowds and military-standard fluorescent lights.

Fifteen minutes later, Jag gently laid Jaina down on his bed. She immediately curled into a ball, shivering and shaking with inaudible sobs. Jag felt his heart break as he looked at her, unsure of what to do next, not wanting to scare her more but also longing to comfort her.

"Jaina? Jaina, are you alright?" Jag immediately felt like kicking himself. Of course she was not alright. She was traumatized.

"Yeah," she snapped, sitting up and glaring at him. "I'm just great." She yanked the worn blanket off Jag's bed to self-consciously cover her bare, bloody skin.

"I didn't mean that, Jaina."

"Whatever." She tried to stand up, to leave, but could not even take two steps before collapsing back onto the bed. "Kriff," she swore.

Jag caught her, tenderly resting her head in his lap. She closed her eyes tight, clearly trying not to cry in front of him. He reached out and gently stroked one of her black-and-blue cheeks. "Shhh, Jaina," he soothed. "Shhh. It'll be alright. I've got you."

At that, her eyes flew open. "You…?"

"I'll take care of you." She stared at him. He gulped. "If…if you want, I mean."

She nodded once and curled into him, trembling and finally allowing herself to cry. Jag stroked her hair until her tears were spent and she lay quiet and still beside him. "Hey, Jaina?" he whispered softly.

"Mmmm," she muttered.

"I'm going to get some med supplies. I need to clean you up, okay?"

She nodded and sat up gingerly, wiping at her blood-red eyes. Jag wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and impulsively hugged her close to him before hurrying into his bathroom to pull bandages, stitches, and healing creams from his cabinet.

Suddenly his eyes were drawn to a pair of badly broken high-heels and a blood-soaked bedspread trailing on the ground. He followed the feet up to a pair of bare legs, a body wrapped from the chest down in a blanket, slender, battered shoulders, and a pained but gorgeous face adorned with chocolaty eyes, soft lips, and golden-brown hair. "Jaina? What is it?"

"Can I…take a shower? Please?"

He chuckled in spite of the utter tragedy of the night. "Of course." He turned the water on as hot as it could get, then handed her a thick towel. "There's soap and shampoo in the shower," he told her. "Will you be alright?"

She nodded. He turned to leave, but her small voice called him back. "Jag?"

"Yeah?"

"I left my dress and stuff out there. I'll clean it up when-"

"Don't worry about that, Jaina. I'll take care of it. And I'll find you something else to wear."

She managed to somewhat smile. "Thanks." He did not get to the door before she spoke again. "Jag?"

"Yes?"

"My dress…it was…really pretty, before…you know. I tried…I'm so sorry…I really don't look like this all the time…"

"Like what?"

She pulled the blanket tighter around her and gave him an apologetic look, then shook her brown tresses wearily. "The walking face of death."

"Well, death must be really gorgeous, then," Jag replied, reaching out to ruffle her shiny, tangled hair, which now hung limply, half out of the elaborately curled up-do she had laboriously created that afternoon.

"But…no…I'm not…"

"Yes, Jaina, you are," he concluded decisively, in a tone that clearly left no room for dispute. "You. Are. Beautiful. Why won't you believe that?"

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she whispered one word, "Zekk…," before shaking her head again, shutting the door, dropping the blanket, and stepping into the steaming water, heels and all.

In the meantime, Jag was going through his drawers, trying to find some clothes that were remotely deserving of Jaina's beauty. "Zekk." The name rang through his head like the dirtiest swear word he had ever heard. "Zekk." That was him. That was the guy. The way she barely spoke his name, the fear in her eyes, the anger on her face when she spat the word…Taking a long, black undershirt out of his drawer and folding it, Jag vowed then and there to kill this "Zekk," Dark Jedi or not, the next time he laid eyes on the Sith-spawned bastard.

"Ow!" Jaina's sharp cry startled Jag out of his vengeful daydreams.

He hurried to knock on the bathroom door. "Jaina? You okay?"

"Yeah." She opened the door, wrapped in a soft towel, her wet hair clinging to her neck and water droplets dancing on her eyelashes like precious snow crystals from Hoth. "It just stung my back a little."

"Let me see."

Jaina shrunk away. "N…no, it's fine. It's no big deal, really."

Jag glared at her. "Please stop lying to yourself, Jaina. I know it's difficult…but you need to accept help sometimes. And I want to help you."

"It's sort of hard to let people help you when you can't trust anyone," she retorted, grabbing the bundled-up clothes from Jag and closing the bathroom door with a decisive click.

Jag was still staring at the door when she emerged out of it again. All worries about upsetting her flew out of his mind when he saw her standing there, dressed only in his shirt, which hit her mid-thigh and clung to every delicate curve of her small body.

"What?" She shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze.

"You look a lot better in my clothes than I do."

She blushed endearingly. "Jag-"

"Jaina." She did not respond, so he walked closer to her, tenderly taking her by the hand. "Look. I know you don't trust me."

"It's not that. I…I want to. It's just…hard."

"I can imagine. After what he did to you, I'm surprised you're even here with me right now."

She looked directly into his eyes then. "Why? I mean…you…you're not like him, right? I mean…you care about me. Don't you? Not just about…about…making me do…things…so you…feel good, or, or whatever-"

"That's Zekk, Jaina. It's not me. I won't even ask you to go out with me again, if you don't want me to. Just…just let me, or someone, take care of you. You…"

"I need help, right?" She pulled back, bristling. "I need to talk to someone, take medication, see a psychiatrist, get locked up in some mental institution. I'm all messed up, and no one wants to deal with-"

"I do." His words cut her off mid-rant. "I _want_ to be here for you, Jaina. And I don't think you're messed up. I think…I _know_…that you _deserve_ to be taken care of. No one should ever, ever treat a lady like that. Especially not my-" He trailed off and looked hard at the ground, his face flushing.

"Your what?" Her voice was gentle, intrigued. She placed a soft, damp hand on his, and he again could not stop himself from shivering at her touch.

"My…Jaina?" he asked hopefully. Questioningly.

She seemed to consider this for a moment before stepping close and pulling him into a huge hug. "My Jag." He wrapped his arms tight around her, as if by this simple action alone he could protect her from the entire galaxy.

For a long time, the two simply stood there, holding each other. Finally, Jaina accidentally broke the spell, slumping against the Chiss pilot as her wounds and utter weariness caught up with her bruised body. Jag gently picked her up in his arms and carried her like a child to his bed, which he had adorned with fluffy pillows and warm blankets while she was showering.

"Expecting someone special tonight?" she asked, bravely grinning through the pain as Jag expertly cleaned and dressed her injuries.

"Just you, beautiful," he replied, tenderly kissing her on the cheek. She blushed bright red, and Jag chuckled.

Jaina shook her head, laughing. She rolled over onto her back so Jag could reach it, and goose bumps formed all over her skin when he gently lifted up her T-shirt and began rubbing healing cream onto her wounds. His fingers were so soft and his touch so calming that after a few moments she found herself drifting off to sleep.

Jag pulled a down blanket over the sleeping girl, carefully tucking it around her shoulders. Jaina had only been asleep for less than ten minutes when her tiny body started to convulse. "No!" she yelled, her voice broken and gasping. "Please…no! Zekk, don't…don't…No!"

"Jaina! Jaina, calm down. You're alright. You're alright, Jaina," Jag shouted, shaking her in an attempt to wake her from the hellish nightmare. "Jaina! It's me!"

Her eyes flew open, and she immediately drew away from Jag, huddling in the corner with her knees pulled up to her chest, trembling and sweating and crying. Her brown hair hung lifeless and wild over her bewildered brandy eyes, and her lower lip bled where she had bit through it in her fitful sleep. Just looking at her melted Jag's heart, but also enflamed his already-burning desire to murder Zekk in a thousand different ways. Perhaps he would ask his uncle about those torture techniques after all.

Jaina took a few deep breaths in an effort to calm herself, and Jag stood by patiently, concern etched across his handsome face, waiting for her to recognize him and realize where she was.

"J-Jag…?" she stammered. "I…I am safe?"

"Always, Jaina. Always. I've got you now. No one's going to hurt you. Ever again. I promise." He tentatively reached out to take her hand, and she allowed him to.

"Jag?" she asked after a moment, inching closer to him as if afraid of something.

"Yes?" He gently pulled her into his lap and re-wrapped the blanket around her. She stiffened noticeably at first, but relaxed somewhat when he tightened his arms around her and rested his head on her shoulder. "I'm just going to hold you. I…I won't hurt you, Jaina. Do you hear me? I will never, ever, _ever_ hurt you."

She nodded slowly. "But, Jag?"

"Yes?"

"Zekk. He'll…he'll hurt me. Like…like…before." She choked on her words, and fresh tears ran down her cheeks.

"No, Jaina," Jag soothed, caressing her back. "He won't."

"Why…how…you don't know."

"I do. Because I'm going to keep you safe, sweetheart. That's why."

"Sweetheart?" She pulled away from him, and to his horror, began shaking and crying again. "No!" she cried through her sobs. "No…I can't be…I'm not…I'm not sweet…"

"Yes you are. Of course you are."

"No. No. I'm not. I'm…I'm trash. I'm cheap, and-"

"What? No. Don't ever say that about yourself, Jaina."

"But it's true," she continued tearfully. "And you know it. I'm horrible, and awful, and ugly, and you can't ever, ever like me, because…because he did…things…to me, and I'm not pure, or clean, or innocent…" She was crying so hard by now that she could not even continue speaking.

"Shhh, Jaina. Shhh. It's alright." He held her, rocking her back and forth until her tears subsided.

"Jaina. Look at me." He tilted her chin up so her caramel eyes met his jade ones. "Listen. You are gorgeous, and you _are_ innocent, and completely blameless. _He_ touched _you_. You didn't ask for it, you didn't want it, and you definitely did not do anything to deserve it. You _are_ pure. You are the most selfless, caring, loving, incredible person that I've ever known. Everything you do…you save people. In more ways than you know. You saved me. You…you're an angel, Jaina. My angel. Do you understand me?"

She nodded silently, smiling slightly at his beautiful words. The two sat together until Jaina once more began to drift off to sleep, her head resting on Jag's chest. "Jaina?" he asked quietly. "Let's get you to bed."

She murmured in response, and he laid her head down on the pillow and wrapped her up tight. He stood to make a bed for himself on the floor when her hand caught his. "Don't go," she whispered. "Stay with me."

"Oh-okay." He sat down on the edge of the bed again, but she pulled him down with a strength he was not expecting and positioned him close beside her.

"Right here," she insisted, her voice soft and shy. "Just...please…just…"

"Hold you?" Jag finished for her, entwining his arms around her battered form. She nodded noiselessly.

"Hey, Jag?" she whispered in the darkness.

"What?"

"Do you always get your way?"

"What do you mean?"

"We technically haven't even gone on one official date yet, but somehow you still ended up sleeping with me tonight." She flashed him that special Solo half-smile, and Jag thought his heart was going to jump right out of his body. Force, she was breathtaking. He laughed softly, amazed by her ability to joke even after all she had been through, and ran his fingers through her silken hair. Her rhythmic breathing and fluttering eyelashes told Jag she was on the verge of sleep, so he leaned in close to her and stroked Jaina's bare arm.

"Hey, Jaina?" he breathed, his lips so near to hers that with one small movement forward, they would meet.

"Yes?"

"Can I please…if it's alright with you…may I…kiss you?"

He fully expected her to shy away understandably, but to his amazement, her twinkling eyes flew open, and she smiled broadly. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever get around to i-" she replied, grinning, but her words were cut off as the Chiss pilot tenderly took her in his arms and melded his lips with hers in a sweetly gentle, yet tremendously passionate, kiss – a kiss that wordless told Jaina just how much Jag loved her.

The rest of the night passed in a red-hot blur of affection, and the blazing orange sun broke over the horizon as the two breathless lovers finally fell into a deep sleep, their bodies pressed so close together that it was impossible to determine where Jaina's ended and Jag's began. And for the first time since her disturbingly traumatic childhood, Jaina Solo slept peacefully, safe and secure in the warmth of Jagged Fel's arms.


End file.
